


raise your banners, ride to war

by erlkoenig



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Happy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tyelpe doesn't die, Angst, Knives, M/M, Non-Graphic Torture, Not all tags apply to every ficlet, This ship is a dumpster fire and I love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 17:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11491374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/pseuds/erlkoenig
Summary: a collection of "silvergifting" ficlets from tumblr prompts; can be read as standalones (unless otherwise noted)





	1. i want you to know, what i did, i did

Maybe something will break.   
  
Maybe loosely curled fingers will drop the hammer, the chisel, the knives the lies the chains.   
  
(maybe he can go back and never open the gates–but he knows, he knows he would every time)   
  
_There’s still good in you._  He tells himself it’s in the hesitation, the way fingers linger on the next knife, reluctant. _Th_ _ere’s still good in you_ , and he counts the seconds in rattled, ragged breaths thinking just one more moment and maybe they can still put this behind them somehow.  
  
 _There’s still good in you,_ he thinks wildly, desperately, pleading as those too-familiar fingers curl around the hilt of the knife.


	2. don't tell me this is home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: modern au Tyelpe/Annatar, "heaven"

He thinks if heaven could exist, it might be a deserted diner at three in the morning. The coffee is better then, more for the staff than for the ragged creatures dragging in out of the rain.

But heaven doesn’t exist, because the devil slides into the booth across from him, trailing sparks and smoke and smiling too wide.

He doesn’t say anything, not yet, just turns the syrup-sticky menu over in his hands and wonders why–of all the times and places to return to this world–they happen to fall at the same time.

“I hear the waffles here are quite good,” Mairon says absently as the waitress brings a second cup of coffee, as if there was little more than a simple drifting apart between them.

Tyelpe snorts, and reaches for mairon’s cup; it’s not like the Maia will drink it anyways, and he has a feeling it’s going to be a long night.

 

 


	3. when the city floods (we'll build our castle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: tyelpe and annatar, "silver and gold"

When the bards write songs about them, Tyelpe’s eyes will be silver, bright and shining like moonlight; not the grey of thunderheads, storms in the afternoon.   
  
_He knows something is wrong, he can see it in those eyes, the minute flicker of something golden reflected and then it’s gone._  
  
Later, when wine has loosened tongues and clothes, he watches those eyes to see if they’ve changed. Tyelpe laughs at some joke he’s missed and they’re the color of rain falling on tombs and he’s enchanted and repulsed at once.   
  
“Let’s leave,” it’s too much, too serious, there are too many fingers threading through his own and there’s too much in those eyes, “we can go anywhere, lets go somewhere, you and I.”   
  
He closes his eyes and thinks of gold, thinks of fire, thinks maybe he might say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> send me prompts at nelyafinwes.tumblr.com


End file.
